because everyone would rather watch you fall
by i.datt
Summary: For the sweet nothings and heartfelt words that others forget. Soul/Maka. oneshot!Collection.
1. the exception

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Soul Eater.

The first installment of my collection of Soul/Maka drabbles.

_" the exception "_

* * *

She absolutely _hated_ Valentine's Day.

Maybe it was because her father had raised her to know such a demented sense of love - betraying her and her mother every night by falling in love with every remotely curvy woman he saw - that she was just sick of the very concept. Maybe it was because all the love she'd ever known had ended in disaster.

Maybe it was because she had deemed falling in love to be impossible _years_ ago when her parents divorced.

In other words, she detested the sweet nothings, the empty words, the fuzzy cards, the fluffy clouds, the whole shebang.

The day itself was unbearable. Almost every boy and girl was bursting with gossip, simply chock-full of 'he said, she said' and 'who likes who.' Every guy wanted a girl to notice him and every girl wanted a guy to be thinking about them.

And although she didn't want it, to her oblivion, she was on the mind of one right now.

Soul walked silently behind his technician, noticing how Maka's usually firm posture slouched a bit as she walked to school with something akin to dread. His crimson eyes regarded her with genuine concern as her feet dragged on the pavement. He picked up his pace and walked beside her, trying to make out her expression from the corner of his eye.

When her face showed nothing, he grew frustrated.

"Makaa."

The girl winced, and, as she lifted her head to meet his gaze, he wondered why. "What's wrong?"

She tried to straighten herself normally, faking a smile. "Nothing."

Soul arched an eyebrow, but did not pursue the subject.

It wouldn't have been cool to do so.

--

Somehow, Maka found it impossible to focus on the book in front of her. The words seemed to blur before her eyes, as if her brain had devoured them and was currently throwing them back up.

All around her, there was whispers and giggles and notes being passed.

_Oh come on, _she thought angrily, her brow furrowing. _I thought we grew out this years ago. What are we, ten?_

Her temper boiled up to almost it's breaking point before it was smothered by the mood set by this torture.

She closed her book softly and laid it down in front of her, not wanting ro read any more. She caught a glimpse of the boys in front of her making copies of the same love note and sending them all over the room, telling the reader to meet their "secret admirer" after school and snickering about how their hearts would break when no one else showed up.

Maka's blood boiled with hate. _Stupid, insensitive bastards._ Didn't they care about how many people they would hurt?

She 'tsk'ed. _Probably not. Valentine's Day sucks._

The blonde glanced at the clock. Three more hours. Damn. She let out another sigh, her being overcome with woe. Her forehead hit the desk with a soft thud, and her arms hung from her sides helplessly. Never before had she wanted so badly to cut class.

Soul, who was relaxing back in his chair, dozing a bit, leaned forward, curious. When Maka heaved another sigh, he came back all the way, his arms resting on the desk.

"What's wrong, Maka?" he asked.

"Nothing." The lie sounded wrong, even to her.

"Makaa."

Her shoulders sagged lower. She hated it when he said her name like that, because he knew it would get her to answer honestly. _Manipulating jerk. _"I hate Valentine's Day."

Soul smirked at the irony. "Why's that?"

Instantly, her mind flashed to the boys in front of her, and to her father. "Because men are arrogant bastards."

The weapon's eyebrow twitched, but he dismissed his annoyance when Maka sighed again, signaling her attempted end to the conversation. With a gentle hand, he tugged on one of her pigtails.

He was not giving up that easy.

"Oi."

She rolled her head so that she could look at him. His fingers smoothly slid to the end of her hair, his eyes abnormally soft as he smirked at her again.

"What about me?"

Maka's large green eyes widened a bit. Her lips parted slightly, and Soul was close enough to feel her warm exhale. His crimson eyes waited patiently for her answer.

The technician's mind remembered all the times they had fought together, all the times he had risked it all to save her, all the times he had protected her, and all the little moments in between. It had been Soul that had excepted her bookworm, flat-chested self as his partner and best friend and had shown her that she really was someone important. It had been he who had motivated her to get back up on her feet and fight when it had seemed like all hope was lost, and it was him who she synced her soul with every time they charged into battle.

Crimson eyes, shock white hair. The 'coolest' guy alive. The boy who would do anything to shield her from harm, but knew her well enough to let her do her own thing.

Soul Eater Evans was _nothing_ like her father.

And it's right then and there that she realized that maybe falling in love really was possible after all.

A smile spread across Maka's face, and Soul couldn't help it, he grinned crookedly back, his sharp teeth glinting at her.

"No," she said. "You're the exception."

Soul quickly suggested cutting school, and Maka almost agreed before promptly swinging her book to hit him over the head with a lighter one of her signature Maka Chops, an involuntary grin on her face.

* * *

The first of many! (Happy Valentine's Day!)


	2. climbing rooftops

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Soul Eater._

_The second!_

_"climbing rooftops"_

* * *

There were times in which she doubted herself, fell to the ground in hopelessness, in defeat, when it seemed that there was no possible chance at winning.

Those were the times that he was there to grab her hand and hoist her back onto her feet, hold her closely, shaking her into sense again with some of the most comforting and encouraging words the world has ever heard.

_"Maka, we're strong enough!_ You're _strong enough! There's no way in hell I'm gonna let this demon spawn so much as_ touch _you, let alone_ hurt _you!"_

Those were the times when she thought she was going to cry, but she always shook the tears away and got back up and fought for _him_.

Never for her.

--

Maybe it was simply fate.

Maybe it was something else.

Maybe it was because the split second she stepped out of her home _without_ _him_, she had woken up here.

But the reality was that she was dying in this god-damned black hole, bleeding out her life alone.

The scent of her own blood was smothering her, thick enough to swallow like water. Not an inch of her skin was clean.

She had tried to break down the door; it had been no use. The iron stood undaunted and unwilling to bend.

She hadn't cried, but her spirit had been broken in two.

It was inevitable, she thought, that she was going to die here.

Alone.

Without him.

So when a blade cut through the door like it was paper and the heartbroken white-haired boy rushed to her side, frantic and worried and _scared _-- for _her_ -- it had seemed so incredibly, so irrevocably unreal.

--

He figured that he would give up everything he had to stay here, with her, forever, surrounded by everyone who he'd befriended.

The hospital room was cramped, sure, but it seemed rather comfortable as everyone laughed and was grateful of the little things. The weapons, the meisters, the teachers, and the occasionally sobbing half of a parental unit were all there, just happy to be together in this small space, where nothing unfortunate could wrong them, where life was blissful and without sorrow.

They disregarded the nurses that insisted that visiting hours were over.

She dozed off everyone in a while, but he, laying next to her, never let go of her hand, vowing to never leave her side again. Every time he squeezed her fingers she smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. The warmth that entered his chest as enough to split his heart in two.

All of them stayed for hours on end, but when everyone else had gone home for the night, he was the one who lingered.

He was the one who bided to be her pillow, her heat source, her comfort, her protector, her lifeline, her reality.

He was the one that remained.

--

It was hard to deny how foolish she felt at this moment.

Sure, she had wanted to go the annual Shibusen Ball to socialize with friends she hadn't associated with in a while, but she hadn't wanted to do _this_!

Damn it, she was still in a _cast_! The stitches still throbbed in her gut and it had taken her most caring friend hours to get her into this freaking dress and the sole three-inch heel!

But her weapon had thought otherwise.

Dressed sharply in his pinstripe suit, he had smirked at her smugly as he chided her.

_"Come on, Maka, it's not like we're doing the high-level moves."_

Before she had even known what was happening, she was being swept out with a broken leg and twenty-seven stitches and a barely-out-of-the-hospital vibe into the center of the polished wood floor. Instantly she felt a warm hand slip down to her waist and another entwine with one of hers. She looked up in surprise at her partner.

This was the first time he had swayed with her like this outside of the dimension of his twisted soul. This was the first time she had truly _danced_ with him, right there in front of everyone.

But the shocking thing was that the crimson-eyed boy didn't seem to care. His 'cool' demeanor stood forgotten on the balcony where they were once standing, and she wondered why on earth he would leave it behind, especially now, when everyone's eyes were on them.

His face easily transformed into a wide, sly grin, and a ripple of something unknown fought its way across her chest.

_"What, it can only happen in my head?"_

She laughed softly, and he couldn't help but snicker as well. He maneuvered her stiff leg around for the rest of the song, and a few after that.

How he had made her feel so at ease that night, she had no idea.

--

It was nighttime, and she was restless.

She tossed and turned, unable to find a suitable position to gain a few minutes of sleep in, the bulky and tight cast fighting her in the battle for repose.

It was then that he would brush her hair back from her face with careful fingers, smother her with pillows, trying to provide her with anything that would float her into slumber, to help ease her too-aware mind away from realities for a few hours.

He would fall asleep next to her, and somehow, the sound of his calming pulse lulled her into the deepest sleep she'd ever had.

_Thuhthump, thuhthump, thuhthump..._

--

_"Soul, draw one more doodle on my cast and I swear I will skin you alive."_

_"Come on, Maka, you aren't that heartless."_

Her leg was propped up on one of the chairs, and he was taking this opportunity to draw all over the once white plaster with the intimidating red Sharpie in his hand. Daring as he was, he snickered and proceeded to draw yet another scythe.

She promptly whacked him over the head with the nearest encyclopedia, but later apologized for it when he put up a show of sulking. She had rolled her eyes, guilt blasting her full-force.

_"Fine, Soul. You can draw on it."_

He grinned, then wrote his name over and over, all over her heart.

--

He woke up screaming.

Immediately becoming aware that he was still at home, he pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face there, shaking so violently that it was all he could to to stay sitting up.

The nightmare had seemed so _real._

For the first time since he was a toddler, he felt a lump grow in his throat, hot tears well in his eyes until they spilled over. The salt water trailed down his face and neck, some reaching his scarred chest.

More than a decade of bottled sorrow had reached its peak and was finally showing through in the form of dusty suppressed sobs.

That one nightmare had brought every bit of his resolve down within minutes.

_"Maka!"_

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

_Silence._

_"MAKA!!"_

_Cloudy green eyes. "S-Soul..."_

_"Maka, fight for me, don't give up now, come on Maka, you can make it..."_

_His hands pressed on her chest, trying to stop the pain._

_"Soul...I-I..."_

_"Maka, please...don't leave me. You're all I've got -- come on,_ _Maka...!"_

_Her eyes were closing. A soft smile._

_"Soul, I'm..."_

_A wet cough. Trickle._

_"Maka, don't speak, it's going to be okay, we'll get out of here..."_

_She shakes her head. "No, Soul, I'm sorry..."_

_"Don't speak! It's my fault, I should have been there to protect you!"_

_A smile. "Soul, it was...it was never your fault."_

_Her eyes were almost shut._

_He let out a scream. "MAKA! NO! Don't leave me!"_

_Her head lulled to the side, and her pulse faded into nothingness._

_"NO!"_

_He clutched her still body to his chest, trying to revive her with the beat of his own heart._

_"MAKAAAAAA!"_

He gave another sob. She had nearly died when he had not been there to protect her, and now he would regret it for the rest of his life. He twisted his rough fingers in his shock-white hair, knowing that every night he would be barraged with these horrible dreams because of his huge mistake.

He knew he'd never forgive himself.

There was a knock on his door, and he knew beyond reason who was behind it.

But he said nothing.

She didn't hesitate.

The door opened with a slight creak and she was standing there in her nightgown, bulky cast and all, bright green eyes glowing even in the dark. She called his name softly, and his heart cracked at the worry there. He still didn't speak, but an involuntary sob gave him away. Gentle thuds followed as she slowly approached him, her soft breathing comforting him now.

When she slipped her small, callused hands around his abdomen and leaned her head on his bare shoulder, his black heart just about shattered.

Why hadn't he been there to save her? How could he not protect her when she needed it most?

He had failed.

He could feel her sweet breath on his chest, and felt her move closer, her head coming to rest next to his face. His hot tears dampened her pig-tailed hair as she whispered against his cold, sweat-slicked skin.

_"What's wrong?"_

The tears continued to fall, but his fingers unknotted from his hair as she hugged him, the sobs growing quieter.

_"I...I almost lost you, didn't I?"_

She pulled away from his just a little bit, but enough to make him want her to come back as her glowing green eyes searched his tear-streaked face. He could have sworn that there, in her eyes, was a hundred thousand stars sparkling back at him as she stared at him.

_"It wasn't your fault."_

In an instant, he was millimeters away from her face, his damp breath and her surprised air mixing between them. Her eyes were wide again, and her arms dropped from around his torso. His eyes slid closed, but he was unable to stop the flow of water down his face. He drew a breath, and she bit her lip.

His brow furrowed, trying to think of what to say. Finally, he uncovered his crimson eyes.

_"Don't...Don't ever say that." _If he had been a minute later in finding her in that damned place, she would have died and they both knew it.

She reached up and wiped away his tears with the pads of her fingers, marveling at the water: It was the first time she'd seen him cry.

_"It was never your fault."_

He shook his head slightly, a smirk fighting its way to his cracked lips. She had always had nerve.

_"It always is, Maka. Ever since..."_

He leaned down, touching his forehead to hers and feeling all the cells in his body react to her wavelength the way that felt so fitting, so perfect, so meant to be. Her soul reacted to his the same way, and he felt her breath against his lips as their hearts beat together.

He felt complete like this, because he had her and he would never, ever betray her and she knew it.

She was his miester, his best friend, his salvation.

--

Sometimes he'd sit on rooftops gazing at the sky and thinking about nothing, yet everything in particular.

He'd think about her more often than not.

Maybe it was time he realized that he'd fallen in love with the girl that was so unbelievably uncool, the bookworm, the blunt one, the miester - his miester.

He heard her voice say his name in his dreams, in his daydreams, and he often ran his hand across his chest to remind himself of the sacrifice that he'd been ready to make for her.

He grinned to himself as she sat down next to him.

_"You found me."_

She was quiet for a moment. He smiled up at the stars as he breathed in her scent.

_"What are you thinking about?"_

He decided to be honest.

_"You."_

_"Really?"_

_"Really."_

She blinked up at him, and he looked down at her with a smirk and saw there in her eyes the one hundred thousand stars that he'd happily stare forever at. He saw her mouth curve into a smile as well.

Yeah, he was in love with the girl that had the entire galaxy in her huge green eyes and always had that heavy textbook in her arms and still laughed at the little things.

Tomorrow he'd tell her.

Because she had no problem with climbing rooftops to reach him.

* * *

_This one was a bit longer...and more angsty than the last one. What did you think? _

_Because I love your thoughts._

**_-datt_**


	3. numbing martyrdom

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Soul Eater._

_The third!_

_"numbing martyrdom"_

* * *

He hated it when she cried.

He hated himself right now more than anything.

He should have never taken that Death Scythe mission with Shigami. He had known from the very beginning that he would get hurt. There had been no way around it, however.

It'd been two months since he'd seen her, and now that he was, it was from an immobile position, though half-open, sedated eyes as he lay flat on his back in crisp sheets. The amount of needles and IVs in his arms made him feel like a pincushion. He can hear the in and out of his own breath, a hollow sound against plastic.

In. Out.

His bright red eyes were glued to her, and she stared right back into them, clutching at his hand. He wanted, so badly, to squeeze it, to let her know that it was going to be okay, but she couldn't and he wanted to scream.

But he couldn't.

And then he started to think that it wasn't going to be okay.

And that struck fear straight through his soul.

He knew that she blamed herself. Why, he didn't know. It was his fault. His own, stupid fault. He should have never gone with the Death God. He'd known it was going to be more dangerous than anything he had ever faced with her.

Her tears hit the plastic over his mouth with a hollow dripping sound. He blinked, suddenly startled by the suffering in her eyes. He never wanted this to happen. He never should have left her.

Two months. Two months too long.

He'd missed her. He wished she'd stop crying. The morphine hadn't helped numb the pain in his chest. It escalated higher, and his breathing became quickened as he tried to cope with the searing torture of it.

She was still crying, still clutching his hand, still looking at him with those anguished green eyes, and all he wanted to do was tell her the three words he still couldn't say.

Because all the agony there, in her eyes, was because of him.

Unbidden, one single, crystalline tear seeped out of the corner of his eye, trailing down into his shock white hair.

_I'm sorry._

While he was abroad, he had often pictured the look on her face when he came back home, mission finally accomplished. He'd imagine the feel of her arms around him, the warmth of her skinny body against his, the thankfulness that he had come back unharmed. Almost as soon as he thought about it, he'd feel farther away from her than ever.

She caught sight of his lone tear, and sobbed quietly. Her head leaned down to rest gently, barely touching, against his. He closed his eyes, feeling her breath and listening to his own.

In. Out.

_I'm sorry._

Maybe it was because she was there, or that she somehow knew that he'd never be more sorry for doing this to her, or that, somehow, some way, she had fallen in love with him too, but the pain in his chest finally dissipated.

_I love you._

* * *

_Ta da! More angst. I apologize for it._

_Because I love your thoughts,_

**_-datt_**


	4. breathing easy

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Soul Eater._

_The fourth!_

_"breathing easy"_

* * *

He watched her, laying back in the grass, arms folded behind his head.

He could tell that the warmth of the late afternoon sun was luring his partner into slumber. Despite the fact that she knew perfectly well that she was fighting a losing battle, her drooping eyelids came up, then right back down again to the point that her bright green eyes were nearly closed.

How like her to refuse to give up.

Her book - how predictable - was sagging lower and lower in her lap. The tank top and shorts she was currently wearing, in an effort to gain some color, seemed to catch the sun's sleep in them, so the longer she stayed in her current position, the further into the lull of dreams she fell.

Eventually, her head leaned forward, eyes closing at last, having given in, and her straight posture was abandoned when her body drifted backwards to rest on the tree trunk. Soul smirked, twisting the piece of grass in his mouth with his tongue.

She looked like she was five years old.

Soul sat up, turning his body around so he was sitting cross-legged, just like her. His head, like a child's, tilted to one side as he watched her breathe. For some reason, all he wanted to do was sit like this and watch Maka sleep.

It was strange.

He twisted a loose thread on his white T-shirt around his finger absently, mind wandering as his crimson eyes remained fixated on her face. The cool breeze wound its way through the flowering field, ruffling her child-like pigtails, blowing the scent of her hair towards his face. He inhaled the scent of battle, even in this pure place, and it lingered in his senses for a moment or two.

The weapon closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them, tilting his head to the other side. Spitting out the blade of grass from the corner of his mouth, he entwined his finger around another without looking.

Soul's mind wandered again. If they hadn't been stuck together as, would they have ever met? Would they have ever become as close as they were now? Would they have found each other?

No matter what situation he thought up, Soul could only find one answer.

_Yes._

Somehow he knew that they'd always find each other. Just instinct, he guessed.

He plucked the piece of grass from the ground with much more force that what should have been necessary, but it was only when he looked down at it that he realized that it wasn't a blade of grass at all, but a very pretty, pure white flower.

Instead of throwing it behind him like he normally would, he held on to it, because something told him not to toss this one away. Soul glared at the flower, suddenly frustrated. _It's just a stupid flower, you idiot. Why would it be of any importance...?_

Soul's eyes drifted back up to his sleeping partner, and before he even knew what he was doing, he tucked the snow-white flower behind her ear, careful not to rouse her. As his hand came back slowly from her ear, it brushed across her bangs, skimming the skin of her face gently. She gave a little smile.

As soon as his fingers made contact with her cheek, he jerked his arm back like the softness of her skin burned him. What the hell did he just do?

Immediately, Soul had the impulse to snatch the flower back out of her hair, but he suppressed it, knowing that he was too hyped up now to extract it without her stirring and possibly waking up.

_It does look like it belongs there, though..._

Shaking his head, Soul scowled again. If Maka woke up and found that flower in her hair...well, he didn't know what he'd do. Run?

Exasperated, he turned his back on his miester and flopped down in the grass again, arms spread wide as he glowered up at the laughing sun.

_Shut up._

Unwillingly, Soul tilted his head back far enough that he could see Maka leaning against the tree. She was still fast asleep, and he was silently glad that he hadn't disturbed her rest.

There was still a soft, sweet smile on her face.

When he saw it, all his frustration melted away as quickly as it had come.

Soul smirked, suddenly feeling the sun's warmth wash over him, and within minutes he too was out like a light.

--

The sun was beginning to set when Maka woke up, starting to disappear beyond the horizon. She sat up straight, yawning and rubbing her eyes as she pawed around in her lap blindly for her book.

As she blinked the sleep from her eyes, she surveyed her surroundings drowsily. Soul was still out of it, snoring loudly and unaware of the drool seeping out of the corner of his mouth. Maka rolled her eyes, leaning forward to poke him awake.

"Come on, Soul," she said, muffling another yawn. Her partner didn't stir. "It's time for--"

She stopped talking, her eyes transfixed on the flawless white flower that had just slipped from behind her ear and fallen to the grass between them. Maka picked it up, twining her fingers around it, wondering who had...

Soul let out a quiet snore. Her eyes fluttered up to look at him, still sleeping, and she smiled.

"It's beautiful, Soul."

She leaned down and brushed her lips on his forehead, his lulled wavelengths still emitting a shock wave through her body. Soul's lips curved into an unconscious smirk and he gave a contented sigh. Maka blushed, hearing her heart pounding away in her chest.

She retucked the flower back behind her ear, leaning back up against her tree, as she was referring to it now. Only a foot or so away from where she sat, Soul's face was peaceful, unbothered...Maka found herself smiling right along with him.

Not tearing her eyes from him, she scratched a heart in the bark behind her with her fingernail.

Because she could wait for hours.

* * *

_Look, I can too write fluff._

_Because I love your thoughts,_

**_-datt_**


	5. unlost and unfound

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Soul Eater._

_The fifth!_

_"unlost and unfound"_

* * *

It's nighttime and you can't sleep.

Everything seems more alive tonight. The moon's light is shining through your window, emitting little breaths of music that you wouldn't have heard if you had fallen back into the sleep that you don't and hope you never will crave. It's ghostly and romantic and surreal and _perfect _but somehow it sends shudders down your spine.

The snores in the next room are louder than usual as your ears, sharper than they ever have been, pick up every gush of air. You close your eyes, breathing in, still honing your mind on the moon's soft notes and the dripping of the not-quite-off sink and the calming rustling of the leaves outside your window.

For some reason your feet move of their own accord, pulling you off your untouched bed and to your doorway. That snoring is louder now, but it's becoming more magnetising than the moon's song, the soft padding of your feet on the hardwood floor drifting out of earshot as you proceed down the hallway.

His room is not messy, but you have an inkling that it would be if you didn't berate him so constantly. You smile, looking down at your feet. He always listens to you, even if he doesn't exactly do what you tell him to (you remember the bike incident) and somehow it's okay even then, because at least he acknowleges what you say.

You look up at the boy spread-eagled on his bed curiously, your eyes examining every detail of his face. His white hair glows in the moonlight, and you hear that soft music again, but this time it feels less like it doesn't belong as he breathes in and out, innocent and gentle in his sleep. You're slightly jealous of his slumber, but you disregard it because he deserves to rest tonight.

Your fingers run over the bandage on your arm, but you don't want to think about today and how he risked his life _yet again_ to save you.

You want to think about _now_ and the extravagant way his sharp mouth opens widely and his nostils flare with every breath he takes.

And then all of a sudden you're next to his bed and inhaling his scent and looking at his thick lashes that cast whispers of shadows down the smooth planes of his face. A smile works its way onto your lips and you fold your hands behind you like you're five years old again because he's become the only object of your attention.

As if he knows you're next to him, watching, the snoring slowly dies away to be replaced with a crooked smirk. You find yourself sitting on the edge of his bed, twisting your fingers around the tangled sheets. He turns gently onto his side so that he's facing you, curling slightly so his body is curving around where you sit.

Still trying to protect you --_ save you_.

You smile back at him, his face peaceful and happy and at ease with what you and he are and wherever this morbid task of destroying the wretched beings that haunt children's dreams takes you both. Inisde you know that you wouldn't have it any other way because this is what binds you together past the years of trust and, God forbid, _love,_ like some kind of adhesive that you can't peel off.

Again your body moves on its own and your calloused fingers brush his cheeks like an angel's feathers because you know he deserves every last ounce of compassion in your soul, your heart, and you want to give it to him despite what he's earned from all he's done.

Maybe this isn't the perfect love story or the flawless tranquility and peace two souls can share, but it's yours and his and it's all you really want, and even though you've worked so hard to hide it it's coming through at times like this, these little transparent moments you can't refuse. Maybe he has them too, but you don't care if he doesn't because you know he dreams about you -- you've heard him talk in his sleep -- and that's all you need.

Because this moment is all the proof you need that you and him are more than partners, more than friends, you and he are _soulmates_ that have and always will find each other no matter how torn apart you are.

Because you will never let go of his heart that you so practically stole, that shines with darkness and purity, and hoping that he will never let yours slip from between his own caring fingers, a gift that is tucked away in his soul.

Soon enough he's awake and pulling you down into his strong embrace, your forehead resting on his chest and breathing in the scent of this endless war, your endless battle with the matters of souls. You giggle softly as he nuzzles his face into your hair like a lost puppy and there's something in the warmth of his body that makes you want to stay where you are forever and just linger here with him until the end of time.

And you might, if he lets you.

* * *

_Too much of The Fray can do this to a person._

_Because I love your thoughts,_

**_-datt_**


	6. footsteps

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Soul Eater._

_The sixth!_

_"footsteps"_

* * *

They say the first step towards something real is the hardest.

--

"My name's Maka."

"I'm Soul."

--

And that it's what you do when you think no one's watching that really matters.

--

"If you go through with this, it'll kill you."

"I don't care."

"You idiot, if you die--"

"I don't care about you. I'm doing it for her."

--

And it's true.

--

"Soul..."

"Yeah?"

"...Thank you. For everything."

"Anytime."

--

Because after that first, signifigant, determining step, everything falls into place.

Sometimes you get lost, but you never lose sight of the one reason why you pushed yourself so far.

--

"What, Soul? You've been looking at me weird all day."

"...It's nothing, Maka."

--

Because, eventually, you'll get there.

--

"Maka, it's going to be fine. Everything's okay..."

"Th-they killed Papa, a-and now th-they're after you!"

"Nothing's gonna happen to me, Maka. I'll be fine..."

"No i-it won't!"

"Maka...Don't cry."

"It's my f-fault, Soul!"

"..."

"I...I don't want you to die, Soul."

"I won't."

_I'll never leave you behind..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_...I promise._

--

Because one day you'll finally realize that there is no going back, there is no second try.

--

"Why do you fight?"

"..."

"You're going to die here. You might as well make the most of it."

"...Shut up."

"Who is she to you?"

"..."

"You left her behind, Soul Eater, to protect her. You knew that you were going to die as soon as you stepped into this room. All I ask is why."

"I came here to kill you, you bastard."

"Surely not."

"You killed her father."

"And why do you care about that? You're only her weapon."

"You don't understand anything about us."

"Us...? Are you in love with her? What a waste..."

"SHUT UP!"

--

_She'd do it for you._

--

Everything that's worth the time is worth the fight.

--

"Soul! SOUL!"

"It's...It's done, Maka. We won."

"You won."

"...Heh."

"Thanks, Soul. And I..."

"I know. Me too."

-----------

_and would you find that one you're dreaming of?  
__swear up and down to God above  
__that you'd finally fall in love...  
__if today was your last day..._

_**- nickelback**_

* * *

_God, I love the radio._

_Because I love your thoughts,_

**_-datt_**


	7. ebony lullaby

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Soul Eater._

_The seventh!_

_"lullaby"_

* * *

She likes watching him play.

Not when he's reading it, of course, trying to recreate a sound decades old. She prefers observing the way he improvises -- not that she refers to it as improvisation, it's far too...familiar for that-- and the fashion in which he does it. His eyes closed, feather-light, as if they were the eyes of an infant, and his head lowered, humble for once, seem to give off the precognition that he was no longer, as the saying goes, _on Earth_, _with us_, but instead lost deep in the darkest section of his soul.

That's when the music -- his music -- is the most haunting, most beautiful.

Usually, he refuses to play when she's around. Usually, he glances around to check for her green eyes every few moments, to make sure she's not in earshot.

Usually, he's so _aware_.

Tonight, he's not paying attention. Tonight, he's not taking any precautions.

Tonight, she listens.

His slender fingers glide over the keys, bowed head bobbing with some imaginary beat. She doesn't know what he's thinking as he creates this soul-stirring, heart-pounding tune. It's nothing like what he's ever played before, nothing she's ever heard. This time, he's completely gone, and she knows that no noise she could possibly make could rouse him from the trance he's enveloped in.

This melody is coming from his _heart_.

It's pure, whole, unadulterated emotion; made up of heartbreaking notes and godly chords, sending a shudder down her spine.

This is what he's _feeling_.

She takes a step closer to the polished piano, and he doesn't notice. His brow furrows, and she can almost feel his heart crack as the music became more sorrowful, more melancholy, like a tragic event he's forcing himself to revisit. Slowly, as she continues walking towards him, his expression becomes pained, mouth quivering slightly.

It tugs at her heart like a string.

She walks carefully around where he sits, turning to face him as the music becomes louder, then soft. The corner of his mouth curves into a smirk, eyes still closed as his fingers find the ivories on their own, transforming the sound into a lighter, happier, hopeful tone.

The notes are light, tender, and something in his warm mien brought a smile to her face. Her lids lower, his velvety composition softy chiming on.

His song came to a close, the last note lingering in the air, her heart, her _soul_.

A flash of fear strikes through her as he lets his fingers hover over the keys for a moment before he breathes in, and opens his crimson eyes to look straight into hers. She freezes, but he smirks, eyes gentle. His hands are still held above the ivories, like he doesn't want his harmony to end, much like she does.

_"It's your song."_

She turns red, and looks away.

_"I love it."_

He stands slowly, movements sure and certain. She distantly hears his song playing in her ears as he approaches her, reaching forward to stroke the side of her face with airy fingers, barely even making contact with her skin. She exhales, breath curling on his warm skin, and shivers with anticipation.

Before she knows what's happening, his eyelashes are fluttering against her cheek as his lips rest lightly over hers. He tastes like fire and cherry passion, and she's transfixed by the feel of his mouth and his silent, unmoving benevolence. It's not awkward, it's not heated, it's gentle and loving and passionate and complete.

This is the music, the lullaby, of their souls.

* * *

_I had to write one with the piano. I couldn't help myself._

_Because I love your thoughts,_

**_-datt_**


	8. unrepented and neverending

_Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater._

_The eighth!_

_"unrepented and neverending"_

* * *

She's not listening as he grips her shoulders tightly, too afraid to let go and not brave enough to come any closer. She's crying, she's mad, heartbroken and _he doesn't know why_. He doesn't understand what she's upset about and that in itself makes her cry harder.

Then she says it, and his hold on her freezes in grid-lock. Something must have made her say that, because the girl he loved would never, _ever_ say that and they both knew it.

He somehow finds his voice, however weak, asking _what did he do_ because if anything he wants to fix it, just so she'd laugh and smile and fall into his arms again, but she's not answering and it's breaking his black, tainted heart.

She sobs hard and shakes her head, looking at him with the most beautiful green eyes he's ever seen, and in them he sees that she still loves him with all her soul. He's desperate, he wants to fix this and that means the world to her. He remembers every little thing about her, about _them_ and he doesn't want that all to disappear when and if he ever lets her go.

He doesn't question whether it was _worth it_ because every last fiber of his being knows that it _was_, no matter what happens now. Every laugh, every touch was worth it and nothing will ever change that.

Her blonde hair is falling loose around her face and he can't help but tell her she's beautiful, because she is and who was he to not voice it? She tenses, her violent shaking finally stopping in its tracks as she gazes up at him. He stares right back with wide eyes because he's not sure if this hurt her even more or if he just shattered what could have been repaired.

She bows her head and cries again, and he doesn't know what to do. Then she leans into him and he leans back, resting his head on hers as she chokes out that she's sorry, that it was never his fault but he says nothing, wrapping her in a tight embrace and crushing her to him. Though she says it wasn't about him, it is now because it was about _her_, and they were in this together, no matter what. He's going to help her all he can with this mess and there's nothing she can do to stop him. He's going to fight this demon that's causing her all this pain, this agony because he can't bear seeing her like this.

His tears wet her hair as they leak from his eyes because now he knows that she's not leaving and it comes with the biggest wave of relief. Her arms are around his waist as her tilts her head up to press her lips to his cheek, just like all the years before.

_"I'm sorry,"_ she says, and everything feels right again. He chuckles into hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo but there is silence before anyone says anything more.

Then he speaks, because she needs to know this and he needs to tell her because _who cares about his coolness factor_ anymore? It's just him and her and that's all that's really important. _"I love you."_

She's crying still, but he can feel her smile through his shirt as she repeats it back to him and he knows that this wasn't over, this wasn't the end of the best seven years of his life.

Because she was still here, and he was never letting her go.

* * *

_I've started a claim for 100_themes on LJ, so expect more continuous updates. The theme for this one was "Word"._

_Because I love your thoughts,_

**_-datt_**


	9. whispering ghosts

_Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater._

_The ninth!_

_"whispering ghosts"_

* * *

She screamed her heart out as he fell to the ground, slashed with the knife that this monster had pressed to her throat moments before. She screamed so loud that it deafened her, pounding in her ears like some forsaken curse. She tore herself from the monster's grasp, not ripping her eyes from the boy on the ground some few meters away and barely noticing how the thing that held her hostage was immediately wrapped in warped chain and embedded with bullets.

Silence was heavy on the world as she opened her mouth again, flying to his side, covered with her own blood as rain poured down from above them. Behind her, there was bloodshed and battle, but she could hear none of it as her collapsed to her knees beside him, tears coursing down her face in rivers, regardless of the vibration of thunder from the heavens.

The boy before her grasped the handle of the knife in his chest, and the pain in his face was that of a martyr. With one mighty tug, he pulled it out of the hole it had made, casting it aside with sharp clatters. She clutched his bloody hand, yelling his name over and over and over again, his wide crimson eyes scaring her so much she was trembling. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth and joining the splatter around him, staining his shock-white hair in the night.

She sobbed harder, pressing her lips to his hand as sound began to return to a quiet world, for the battle was done and there was nothing but the pain in both of their chests. The others watched on with tears of their own running down their warrior faces, but none of them could compare with her own racking cries.

He looked at her, something hidden in his deep red eyes, and he coughed, blood decorating her clothes and face. She called his name softly, the siren of her voice reaching her own ears this time.

_"Soul, please...Come on, Soul..."_

He closes his eyes for a moment and it scares her, her knuckled white as she gripped his hand tightly before they opened again, halfway this time. But there was no stopping it, no slowing the crimson drops leaking from his mouth and pulsing through his chest. Somehow, his red lips formed the syllables of her name.

_"Ma...Maka..."_

She shut her eyes tightly for a second before reopening them, her green eyes waterlogged and pained. _"Soul, please, don't leave me, please..."_

_"I...I'm...sorry."_

He had nothing to be sorry for, and as she told him so, a wet chuckle rumbled through his damaged chest. _"You...you have no..."_ He coughed again, a smirk still on his face. _"No...no clue..."_

_"Soul!"_

She was losing him, the one thing she was certain she couldn't live without. He looked at her with such emotion then, and pulled at her hand, forcing her to come closer. As her lips crashed down on his, the taste of blood was distinct in both of their mouths as this last act of partnership, passion, and love ended so reluctantly, so perfectly.

He kept her close and neither of them moved as he whispered last words, sweet nothings and so many apologies she'd never understand into her ear, her tears dripping onto his face as he drifted away from her forever.

And then, just like that, she was lost inside the crowd that had gathered around the two of them, still there but only a faded memory, an empty shell, the girl who once had someone to always trust, to always depend on. She screamed for him until she could do so no longer, because maybe he could still hear her and her cries of undying desperation. Maybe he could still find her here, still see her still clutching his limp hand and come back to her, somehow, past the demons of darkness and evil.

Days later, she would run her fingers over the keys of his piano, playing something she'd heard him hum to once when they were together, two souls intertwined as one. Dusty, beaten sobs would escape her as her fingertips brushed over the ivories, the whispers of unwanted ghosts cradling her in barren song. Sometimes, she would see him standing there next to her, laughing at her misguided attempt to play the melody she was so fond of, his hand covering hers as he showed her the way.

Because she had loved him more than he could have ever known.

* * *

_**"Hear** me, I'm cryin' out, _**_I'm ready now...  
_**Turn my world _upside_ _**down**, find me_  
_**I'm lost** inside the crowd, it's getting __**loud  
**I need you to see, I'm_ **screaming for you** _to_ please...  
_**Hear** me, **hear** me  
__Can you hear me?  
__**Hear** me..."_

_**(-kelly clarkson)**_

* * *

_The theme for this one was "Shell"._

_Because I love your thoughts,_

**_-datt_**


	10. blind explosions

_Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater._

_The tenth!_

_"blind explosions"_

* * *

"Yo Maka," her partner's voice crackled in her ear, grainy over the communicator. "You in position?"

The blonde, currently leaning against the concrete wall of the dark warehouse near the back entrance, pressed the tiny button on the device and responded, "Yeah, Soul. Ready?"

"Let's take this bastard down."

Maka stifled a laugh. "Just like all the others."

"Yeah. Standby for the signal."

The young agent took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. This wasn't her first bust, but she could never take the adrenaline rush quite like her partner, who barely even broke a sweat on operations such as this.

She and Soul had been working together for close to three years since she came to the department, and Maka trusted him more than anyone she knew. Despite his nearly constant cool-headed, lazy disposition, Soul had proven himself several times both on the field and off.

They were best friends, and they caught more felons together than anyone else in the unit. The chief couldn't be happier: Because of them, the crime rate in Death City had gone down by nearly seven percent.

But there was always one more out there for them to catch.

The sick son of a bitch that was running the meth market in this part of town had made a huge mistake, one that led to him kidnapping the son of one of the richest men in town and holding him for ransom. Of course, the money had been transferred, despite law enforcement's blatant suggestion not to take the dealer's bait; the druggee's rep was not very honest at all. He had a list of charges that would put him on Most Wanted, including murder and armed robbery.

Soul had been tracking him for longer than Maka had been around, sometimes obsessing over it and pulling the uncommon all-nighter at work, trying to get this bastard off the street. After one of those nights, when Maka entered his office to find him snoring loudly with his head on his desk, she didn't have the heart to wake him up unless she really needed to. All she'd do was leave a steaming cup of coffee next to him, knowing that the overwhelming smell of caffeine would rouse him soon enough anyway.

When the kidnapper had received the money that he'd demanded, he sent the department the victim's location and disappeared off the radar. As usual. Also as normal, Soul and Maka weren't taking any chances with this guy, and were on their toes, expecting the unexpected.

"...All right, the boss gave us the OK. In three. Three..."

"Two..." she echoed. Cocking her gun with a clean snap, she edged closer to the corner.

"One...Go!"

Maka threw herself around the corner, rushing into the darkness towards the door. Soul was already there, and he kicked open the door with one hard kick, his gun pointed into the shadows as he ran inside. She followed him, double checking the little alcoves he had given the once-over.

When they reached another door, just past the construction beams, they paused, one on either side of it. Maka saw Soul's crimson eyes flash in the moonlight shining through the cracked windows far above their heads, his messy silver hair contrasting sharply with the black of his suit. He gave her a swift nod, then practically dented the door with his elbow. It flew open with a bang.

The two of them darted inside, but there was no need for caution. The wealthy man's son, a lanky fifteen-year-old boy, was bound and gagged to a rugged metal chair. Pure, unadulterated relief washed over his face as they entered. Soul halfheartedly put his gun away while Maka ran to pull the gag from the teenager's mouth.

"There's a bomb," he hurriedly gasped, and a look of alarm shot across both agents' faces. "Under the chair."

Maka bent over to look under the boy's restraints and bit her lip. "Soul?"

Her partner crouched down beside her. "Yeah?"

They locked eyes. "There's only a minute left," she said, her green eyes searching his for some inkling as of what to do. Between them, the timer beeped away, seconds sliding past. Soul tore his eyes from hers to look at the tangled mess of wires and sockets. "C-4" was printed on the side of what appeared to be a brown paper box.

"That bastard!" Soul snarled, standing up sharply and running a hair through his hair. "How the hell did he get C-4? That's military issue!"

The boy in the chair began to sob. "I'm going to die here, aren't I?"

Maka crouched down in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes. "No, I'm not gonna let that happen."

Soul was rounding the chair, his eyes following the twisted wires up and around the boy's body. "We can't defuse it."

She looked up at him frantically, and the boy wailed louder. "What?"

He looked away, running his hand through his hair. "The wires are too close to him and the set-up is too complicated for you to figure out," he said, glancing at the amount of time they had left. "Thirty seconds, Maka. We have to get out of here before this place blows to smithereens."

Maka stood up, desperate now. "We can't just--"

Soul grabbed her arm, his face in a stalemate and solidly determined. "We have to get out of here!"

They stared at each other, and the female agent cast a last glance at the poor, wretched teenager sobbing in the chair that was destined to kill him from the start.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. The boy nodded, bowing his head in acceptance of what was fated to come. The helplessness in that gesture broke her street-hardened heart.

"Maka!"

"I know!"

Soul pulled her out of the room roughly, slamming the door behind her as the clock ticked to ten, then nine. Maka didn't say a word as she was dragged quickly back to the entrance of the warehouse, the boy's beaten face imprinted into her mind like a still-steaming brand.

Eight, seven, six.

She couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes from the door they had just closed. When Soul noticed that she was still facing the building he turned back to her, his hand still clutching the crook of her arm.

Five, four, three.

"Maka, come on."

She stared up at the building, knowing that her inability to defuse the bomb had not only cost the richest noble in the city millions of dollars in needless ransom, but his only son.

Two.

Soul yelled at her frantically, screaming at her to move, but she couldn't hear him.

One.

_**BOOM.**_

The warehouse exploded like a firework, windows blowing out, sending glass flying around them, causing bricks and cement to come crashing down around them. The blinding flash lit up the dark of the night, smoke billowing into the now-invisible stars. With his eyes shut tight, Soul tackled his frozen partner to the ground, but he was too late.

The damage had been done.

----

When the dust had settled, Soul raised his head, little chunks of concrete tumbling off of his shoulders and head to hit the ground with a few tiny clatters. Coughing, he opened his eyes too look at his partner, pinned beneath him and shielded from most of the rubble.

Her head was tossed to the side, dirt covering her face and her hair a mess on the ground. Quickly, Soul sat up, putting his arms around her and lifting her tiny body up a little bit from the ground. She didn't stir.

_God, no. _

He shook her lightly, calling her name as a feeling of unease settled into the pit of his stomach. Slowly, her brow furrowed, her hand trembling over her abdomen. Soul grabbed it, squeezing her fingers hard.

"Ugh..."

She was alive. He let out a dark sort of laugh. Opening her eyes, she blinked up at him.

"Jesus, Maka," he snickered. "Don't scare me like that."

Maka said nothing, just stared blankly past him, her lively green eyes distant and dead-looking.

Soul inhaled sharply, the nervousness coming back with a twinge. "Maka?"

She blinked again. _That's Soul's voice._

"Maka? Can you hear me?"

_Where is he?_

Were they trapped under part of the building? What was going on?

She could feel his rough hand on her face, wiping away dust from her cheeks and his arm around her lower back, but she couldn't see him. There was only a stale black. Darkness. With her free hand, she reached out, expecting him to be right in front of her, but he wasn't. Her slender hand dropped to her side.

She felt him tense. "Look at me, Maka."

She turned her head towards the sound of his voice, but saw nothing but pitch-black.

"Soul?"

"What's wrong?" His voice was scared, something that she wasn't used to. It terrified her, and her voice shook.

"Why is it dark?"

He inhaled sharply, glancing up at the full moon above them, shining brightly despite the flumes of smoke still pouring from the building, along with so many stars. The streetlights across the road were glowing their usual yellow. Soul looked back down at the suited woman in his arms.

"Maka," He paused, not sure what to say. "It's...not."

Her clouded green eyes widened, unseeing.

"I...I can't see."

Soul flipped open his phone, pressing the speed-dial in desperation. "Yeah, Agent Evans reporting from 248 Kishin Road. We lost the kid. Agent down, suspect nowhere in sight."

Maka could hear the distorted reply on the other side of the call. "Agent Albarn?"

"Yes. Send back-up."

"Is it serious?"

The silver-haired cop looked into Maka's terrified face, her empty eyes blinking back tears. He'd never seen her so scared.

"I...I don't know."

----

After being carried into an ambulance by none other than Soul himself, Maka's head was pounding, every little sound louder and more confusing with each passing second. Never before had the hospital been so loud, even when Soul had been shot only weeks into their partnership. Then, everything had seemed so quiet, like the world had slowed down just so she could relish in the fact that she could have just gotten her partner killed. That was a long time ago, but it was still stuck in the back of her mind, clear as day. She didn't think she would ever forget it.

Now, Maka squirmed uncomfortably in her bed, the needle in her arm having just been taken out. The doctors had bandaged over her eyes with some kind of gauze pad, so even if she did open her eyes and could miraculously see again, she wouldn't be seeing much.

Her side ached tremendously, but the doctors had promised that it was just a bruise and that she'd be fine within a few hours. However, their little reassurances didn't stop it from hurting like hell. Cautiously, she prodded the spot where all the pain was coming from.

"Ow," she said, wincing violently.

"You shouldn't do that," a deep voice said from the doorway. Her head snapped around to face that direction, forgetting for a moment that she wouldn't be able to see who it was. It didn't matter. She knew that voice.

"Soul?"

"Yeah, it's me."

She heard shuffled footsteps as her partner approached the bed. "What's going on?"

Soul scratched his neck, his eyes glued to the white cloth across her eyes. It was haunting, in a way, like she'd been taken straight out of a horror movie, or been diagnosed with some contagious disease that effected the eyes. "Not much. The chief sorting everything out with the building and the kid and all that. You're getting some time off."

Maka huffed. "I don't want time off. I want my sight back. How long did the doctor say it will take, again?"

"Twenty-four hours," he replied. "And would you stop being such a bad patient?"

"What?" she said, indignant, crossing her arms. "I'm not being a _bad patient_."

"Really?" Soul asked sarcastically. "Then all that swearing at the staff was you being a _good_patient?"

"I wasn't swearing at them."

"Right."

"They were being unhelpful."

"And you were being a pain in the ass."

Maka ignored him, slapping her arms back down to her sides. "It's so _boring_here. It's not like I can watch TV or--"

"Read?" Soul finished for her with a smirk, leaning forward in his chair.

She scowled at him. He knew her too well. "Shut up."

There was a ringing noise from Soul's pocket, the tone she knew he'd set for incoming text messages. Maka turned her head sideways as she heard him flip it open, then sigh.

"What is it?"

Soul rubbed his face with one hand, glancing up at her, still very unnerved by the bandage across her eyes. "The nobleman is causing hell down at the station. They want me there to sort things out. You know, to give them my side of the story and everything."

Maka scratched her arm. "What time is it?"

"Noon."

She groaned. "I want to go home."

Soul stood up, putting his weight on his hands as he leaned over her. Instantly, his partner tensed, turning her blind face in his direction. She wasn't used to him being this close, so close that she could feel his breath on her skin. "You can't right now, Maka."

She scrunched her nose. He chuckled.

"But," he said softly. "I'll get you out of here as soon as I can."

"That's not soon enough," she pouted.

Then, laughing, he stood up straight (Maka felt the mattress under her relax again), and left the room. Maka crossed her arms again, her face splitting into a mischievous grin.

If Soul couldn't get her out of here, then she'd just have to show herself the door.

----

Soul leaned back at his desk, putting his feet us as he finished the last of his paperwork on his knee. The office was quiet, for once, seeing that Black Star and Tsubaki had been placed undercover at a known gangland hotspot.

There was a knock on the door.

"It's open," he called out, not tearing his eyes from the case report he was reluctantly filling out. Oh, the tediousness of being a cop.

It swung open, and Death the Kid entered, clad in his traditional black suit, buttoned neatly.

"Soul," he said, straightening his tie a little bit. He opened his mouth to continue, but the way Soul had thrown his report so carelessly onto his desk distracted him.

"Wh-wha..." he started, his hands coming up of cover his twitching face."What is th-that?"

"Hm?" Noticing Kid's sweaty temple, Soul quickly sat up and straightened the pile of papers, putting it in the corner of his deck. "Nothing. What's going on?"

Kid calmed himself, refolding his cuffs. His little 'attacks' were normal around the station, but no one seemed to mind. Being the chief of police's son and all wasn't the reason he'd become so successful in Death City. His OCD condition solved many cases that would have gone cold without him.

"I think I found something of yours."

Soul looked at him, confused. "What?"

Kid went to the door, opening it again, and there in the doorway stood the other half of the Evans/Albarn partnership, fully clothed in her standard suit jacket and skirt, wearing plain black sunglasses over her bandaged eyes.

The silver-haired cop stood up, rounding his desk to stare at the blonde woman incredulously. "Maka? How the hell did you get out of the hospital?"

Maka stepped forward, forgetting about the threshold and tripping on it, forcing her partner to catch her mid-fall. "I forgot about your screwed-up doorway," she muttered into his arms as he set her back onto her feet. "And anyway, they let me go."

Soul's voice was contradictory. "No, they didn't. They said they were keeping you until tonight."

Maka exhaled sharply through her nose. "I couldn't just lie there all day, Soul, _listening_ to TV!"

"So you forced your way out?"

Kid cleared his throat, getting their attention. "My father said for you to watch over her while you were on desk duty. Oh, and Black Star said he'd be checking in soon, so keep an ear out."

"Okay."

The door snapped shut behind him.

Soul turned back to Maka. "You are unbelievable."

She said nothing, feeling around for the chair she knew was somewhere in front of his desk. When she failed to find it, she crossed her arms indignantly. "Am not. You would have done the same thing."

"I would not."

"No, I take that back. You would have slept all day."

Maka grinned, sensing her partner's scowl before she continued. "Any update on the case?"

"Nope," Soul said, taking her hand and leading her to one of the two chairs in front of his desk before sitting down next to her. "I just filled out the report."

"Can I read it?"

Soul laughed, his face breaking into a huge grin. "How?"

"Oh, right."

They both laughed, and Maka missed seeing his sharp teeth spread in a sharky smile whenever he chuckled. Before she could stop herself, Maka reached up, touching her hand to his face. He froze instantly, the grin fading away from his lips.

"Uh..."

From under her sunglasses, she blushed crimson. "Oh, um, I...just wondered what your face felt like when you, um...smiled."

He blinked. "Oh."

Despite the fact that she couldn't see, something in her soul sparked at that moment, and she was leaning forward, his fingers coming up to touch her jawline as he came closer, his warm breath warming her skin for the second time today and--

The moment was broken as the door flew open and Kid entered, stopping in the doorway. Instinctively, both partners sat up straight, Soul's hand dropping to his side and his neck snapping around to look at the intruder.

"Uh," Kid said loudly, noticing their close proximity. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Maka said, clearing her throat. "What's going on?"

"Tsubaki just contacted us."

"Tsubaki?" Soul and Maka repeated in unison, both of their brows furrowing. Black Star was the undercover team's captain and messenger. It was too dangerous a job for anyone else; no one else had his ability to slip in and out undetected, not to mention his speed.

"Black Star's been captured," Kid clarified swiftly. "We need you out here, Soul. Right now."

Soul stood up. "I'll be right there."

Kid nodded, darting back out the door.

Maka sighed. "Guess I can't come with you."

"You think?" Soul replied grimly. "You have to stay here. In this office."

"Alone?" He could practically hear the challenge in his partner's voice.

"Yeah, Maka, alone." He continued, his voice growing darker. This was the one thing he refused to argue with her about. "If Black Star's been compromised, you're in danger too. That gang-leader got a good look at you when you got the team into position, and God knows what he'll do if he finds you."

Maka swallowed. "I can protect myself."

"You're practically _blind_."

"Temporarily."

"For the next twenty-four hours, you're handicapped," Soul snapped. "You're off duty. You're not going anywhere."

Maka's lip curled, but before she could say anything more, he pulled his iPod out of his pocket, handing it to her along with the over-sized headphones she had so often seen covering one of his ears as they rested around his neck, blasting music so loud she could hear every note. In all the years she'd worked with him, Soul had never let Maka _touch_ his iPod, let alone listen to it.

"Here," he said with a touch of reluctance.

She tilted her head up to where she estimated his face was. _He must be desperate_.

Soul crouched down so his face was level with hers. "Something to do," he said, his tone pleading. "Just stay here, Maka. Please."

Despite all the little disagreements welling up inside of her, she found herself nodding. "Okay."

Maka could sense his satisfied smirk as he stood up again, glad that she'd finally surrendered. "I've gotta go rescue Black Star's sorry ass again, before he gets himself killed."

There was a creak as he swung open the door, and as he exited, Maka couldn't hold her tongue.

"Be safe."

Soul turned back, pausing, but only slightly. "I'll be back."

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

"I hope so," Maka muttered to herself, slipping the headphones over her ears and pressing the button she knew to be 'play.'

-----

The station had become quiet, Maka growing drowsy as the hours passed, the day fading away into the deep night. Songs began to replay once, twice, three times, shifting between punk rock, jazz, R&B and a small sample of classical as the woman in the chair drifted in and out of sleep. Soon enough, she fell into slumber once and for all, only to be woken by the sun's heat on her skin, the beams shining through the two large windows.

Yawning, Maka pulled the headphones down from her ears, letting them dangle around her neck as she stretched her arms upwards.

"What time is it?" she breathed, rolling her neck and feeling her vertebrae pop.

No one answered her. Not good.

_Where's Soul?_

Just then, the door was slowly pushed open, giving out a quiet click as it did. Maka's head snapped up again.

"Soul?"

There were some slow, staggering footsteps, and a grunt as whoever it was sat down in the chair next to her, hissing quietly, as if in pain.

"I'm back."

Maka's heartbeat escalated as she reached toward him, calming slightly when his rough fingers folded over hers. "Are you hurt?"

"Not really," Soul said, but his voice was strained he gripped her hand tighter. "One of those goons blindsided me with a knife, but I'm fine, seriously."

"You don't sound fine," Maka retorted, her hand extending up to touch his face, feeling the coarse texture of stitches. He winced. "Where else did he get you?"

"Just my shoulder."

"And Black Star?"

"He's fine. Finished off the bastard that slashed me before I could shoot him."

Her hand found the beginning of a sling at the base of his neck. "God, Soul, I told you to be safe."

"I'm not dead, am I?"

"No..." His partner trailed off before repeating the question she asked herself earlier. "What time is it?"

Soul glanced at the clock. "About noon."

"I slept that long?"

"Ox said you didn't fall asleep until three a.m."

Her fingers fell away. "It's been twenty-four hours, right?"

"Yeah," Soul breathed. The room felt small, all of a sudden. Before he could stop himself, Soul reached up and slowly took Maka's glasses off her eyes, revealing the white cloth that had bothered him so much previously. Now, though, when he was about to see her eyes again, it seemed sort of...right.

Her lithe fingers gradually peeled the bandage away, trying to dull the pain a little bit. Finally, it was off, and her eyes were visible again, lids covering them as she asked him one final question.

"Soul?"

"Yeah?"

"What if I...What if I can't see anymore?"

Soul leaned closer to her, whispering softly only inches from her face. "Then I'll do everything I can to help you still be my partner."

She smiled slightly. "Does that mean you'll find a way for me to still go out on the field?"

"Maybe."

At this, she laughed, almost inaudibly. "But I'd miss seeing you, you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They fell silent.

"Well," she breathed, taking in a deep breath. "Here goes."

Soul held his breath as Maka's eyes fluttered open, just as green and lively as every, shining in the midday sun. Maka gasped, the darkness that had trapped her gone at last, the color of the world flooding her vision once more. She looked towards the sun and around the office, letting every shade burn itself into her memory forever.

She could see.

"Well?"

Maka turned back to her partner, taking in his pale face, his red eyes, the stitches sown in a jagged line on his left cheek, his worried expression.

"Maka?" he said, his lips barely moving, barely showing the edges of his pointed teeth. Her face split into a huge grin, eyes crinkling with joy.

"I can see," she said, before falling forward, throwing her arms around Soul's neck. He returned her embrace with a tight, one-armed hug, her tiny body fitting against his like a mold. "I can see!"

"Thank God," he replied, his voice raspy in her iron-like hold.

Slowly, she pulled away from him, her face flushing pink with embarrassment. "Sorry."

Soul flashed her a huge grin, and Maka realized with a shock how much she had missed it. He leaned toward her. "Don't be."

Then, their lips met in a quiet kiss, gentle enough to barely be felt, but filled with enough emotion to make static shoot through both of their bodies. Soul smiled against her lips as they parted and rejoined, her fingers tracing his face as he drew her closer with his one arm.

Because God knows what he'd do without her.

* * *

_An extra long one in return for the three week wait. The theme for this one was "Glasses"._

_Because I love your thoughts,_

_-datt_


	11. resented polaroid

_Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater._

_The eleventh!_

_"resented polaroid"_

* * *

"Maka-chan, please," he begged, collapsing to his knees. He reached for her hand. "I'll do anything."

She jerked her arm away. "Go away, Papa."

"Please, anything..."

Her green eyes were cold, dark, and empty. She gave him a scathing look, and I shuddered from my spot in between, off to the side of the asphalt, caught in the middle of her family tragedy for the umpteenth time.

"You want to prove that you love me?" she said harshly, her voice barely louder than a whisper as she glared down at her father. "Then bring Mama back."

The man in the dirt looked at her, his face distraught. "You...You know I can't do that."

This was the answer she expected. She didn't show any sign of weakness, though I knew there were many, as she turned her back on her father. "Don't ever talk to me again," she whispered just as darkly as she had earlier. Then she moved, walking off down the road, leaving him behind.

I cast one glace at the wretch of a man that had fallen to the ground, his face disfigured by the empty sobs his body heaved, before following her, because I had nowhere else to go, nowhere else I wanted to be but with the one person who was stronger than anyone I knew. I had nothing to say to him, nothing to offer the man who had caused her so much pain.

I don't know anyone who deserves a dysfunctional family. All I do know is that she, of all people, didn't. She never did, but somehow God decided to give her that whore of a father, the man who tore her life apart and was trying to make amends. Wasn't it obvious that he could _never_ even _begin _to repay her for all the crap she's been through because of him? Wasn't it obvious that she'll never forgive him?

Apparently not.

So when we finally reached our apartment, as I put myself in charge of dinner (bento it was, then), telling her with my actions that she should rest, I could tell that this fight was all from over. Not that I have much of a family either -- I'd been the one to run, to escape from the dull life of luxury that my family had set up for me, in favor of this, hunting demons with the one person I trusted with my life -- but at least my parents were always together, with no big arguments, let alone a separation. But when a fight started, even a small one, I always knew the moment it ended. Call it intuition or whatever, but I knew. I knew that her father would try again to patch up his mistakes. He would fail, of course, sending my partner into even more emotional turmoil.

That night I ate my dinner alone, covering hers in weak hope that she'd come out of her room (to which the door was firmly shut) and at least attempt to eat it. I was too preoccupied by her troubles. Part of me urged me to back off, to not worry because she could handle it on her own, but how could I? It was kind of my job, you know, to look out for my technician. This was within my range of priorities.

Time passed slowly. As the sun vanished beyond the horizon, the last bits of orange fading to black over Death City, I leaned on the windowsill and watched the stars slowly speckle the sky with their light, my mind restless but my body exhausted. I couldn't tear my thoughts away from the girl just beyond that door, even as the night ticked away, plunging the living room into darkness.

I've never liked to be alone when it was dark, never liked the deep silence that suffocated me when no one else was there to break it. Even if the only sound a companion made was a yawn, or gentle snoring, at least they were there. I don't think I could have lived alone here without her. Just another thing to add to the list of things I'd be at a loss at without my partner.

Tonight was different, though. The night was comforting in a way, not a signal to fall asleep or turn on a light. I liked this kind of darkness. I guess this was what home really felt like; just another day blurring into another. Or something. She'd think of a better way to say it, I'm sure, but right now it was just me and my own crazy, dark thoughts. No one else.

Which was weird. Usually she'd ask me what I was thinking. Tonight, nothing.

This is what made the dark terrifying.

It was quiet now. There was no sign of her gentle breathing, no rummaging around her shelf in a vain attempt to find comfort in a book she's read a thousand times. When the silence was too much, I pulled myself away from the window, tearing my eyes away from the night sky's hypnotizing view and wandering towards the kitchen for a midnight snack, checking for the cat I knew had gone out for the night. As I passed her door, I paused.

It wasn't shut as firmly as I'd thought, but cracked slightly, letting the tiniest bit of moonlight shine in the hallway. I moved closer, straining my ears, but it didn't help. I couldn't hear anything. Cautiously, I eased the door open with my foot, remembering with startling clarity what she'd done to me the last time I'd entered without permission.

But there was no yell of surprise, no book chucked at me from across the room as I peered past the dooway.

I froze, taken aback, because she wasn't cross-legged at her desk with a book like usual, but curled up in a tiny ball on her bed, shaking with what could only be silent little sobs and cluthing something tightly. Her back was to me, facing the window, and she was crying, hard, but quietly.

For some reason, seeing her so broken like this, knowing that after all she'd been though -- countless wars and battles against the shadows that haunt the alleyways -- it'd been her own _father_ that had caused her to finally succumb to tears, it made me angry. Too angry to control myself, to stop myself from creeping closer to her, to ignore the tugging feeling in my chest.

As I approached her, her tiny body shaking violently, I could see the thing she was gripping like a vice. It was an old photograph, and I could make out a much younger version of her, curled up in a woman's arms -- a woman that looked so much like her that she had to be her mother, her blond hair tied back in a single ponytail and green eyes crinkled in a smile. Next to her was my partner's father, her stupid, groveling father, who was much, much younger. His red hair was tied back as well, and his arm was around the woman beside him, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

The picture unnerved me. It was like a glance back into her past and a terrible lie at the same time, like some kind of sick joke at what my partner could have had.

I exhaled, stepping slowly towards the edge of her bed. The old boards creaked beneath my feet, and her head snapped around, her eyes violated and vulnerable. In that second, she was so breath-taking, painfully so, and all I could do was stare at her, watching the tears run down her pale cheek, catching the moonlight as they dripped off her chin. And as soon as I saw her like that, so bittersweetly beautiful, I knew I wouldn't forget it for the rest of my life

"Soul...!"

I didn't give her the chance to speak again, closing the distance between us as I wrapped her in my arms, cradling her head against my chest. She went rigid, shocked by the situation and God knows what else. I held my breath, the weight of the world hanging on my shoulders for that fraction of a second before she relaxed, still not leaning into me.

"I'm sorry," I said, unable to stop myself.

I felt the slight pressure of her forehead touching my chest. Electricity shot through me as I felt her heartbeat.

"For what?" she finally rasped back, so quiet that I had to strain my ears to hear her.

"For your dad. For what he does to you."

She didn't say anything, just let herself rest in my arms, tears still streaming down her face, still unmistakably stunning even when her face was hidden from me. I leaned my cheek on her hair, taking a deep breath, the scent of her shampoo lingering in my nose. Her body shook with a tiny sob.

"Thank you."

I felt the familiar poke of her soul against mine, the rush of its tiny wings surrounding my entire being. I poked hers back, and she laughed softly against my shirt, her petite arms moving to rest around my waist. She raised her head just a little bit so my chin rested on her head, giving a little sigh. Because her father cannot, could not, _will_ _not_ hurt her as long as I'm still standing in the space in between.

And guess what?

I'm never going to move.

* * *

_The theme for this one was "Photograph"._

_Because I love your thoughts,_

**_-datt_**


	12. september rain

_Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater._

_The twelveth!_

_"september rain"_

* * *

She watches from under the ledge as he stands, mouth wide open in the downpour and tasting the innocent rain on his tongue, a refreshing change from the bitter flavor of darkness he's gotten used to. Water drenches his hair and rolls down his bare arms, face.

She thinks she's gone unnoticed, so it's a shock when he turns around and grins at her like she's the only thing he can see. There's a soft nudge against her soul and her heart beats the slightest bit faster and she knows he can hear it.

He's still grinning as he speaks through the rainstorm, droplets plastering white strands to his forehead as silent laughter echoes in his voice.

"_Makaa..."_

His hand extends toward her, a gesture so common between them that she feels stupid to think that it has a deeper meaning this time, a different purpose than before. So she shakes her head adamantly, but there's no stopping the smile on her lips, the warmth in her soul and he can feel it clearer than she can.

"_Soul…"_

His fingers itch for hers, and finally, she complies.

He pulls her out of her shelter from the endless precipitation, and her dry skin and hair and being are immediately soaked to their core. Laughter rings in the air before them – a beautiful sound in the calm – as he runs with her, down the uneven streets and past the windows of people behind all those walls and windows and doors. Two sets of fingers are still entwined, laced together tightly to match the splashing footsteps that they cast behind them, forever moving forward.

And it's in one of the most unanticipated potholes in the street that he loses his footing, falling to the ground and his grip on her hand breaking. She notices the warmth of his skin almost instantly and skids to a stop, turning back to find him.

He looks up from his position on the wet ground to see her running back to him, and he's slapped across the face with how beautiful she is, rain sparkling as it flew off her blonde pigtails and green eyes giving off a glow of their own. And as she grins at him, her gentle voice asking with a soft laugh if he was okay – _(oh, he was so much more than okay_) – he's thinking he _loves_ her, really loves her and her calloused palms and brilliant smile and angelic soul. Easily, of course, he takes her offered hand and rises to his feet, and it's just him and her, standing there in the rain.

Her face is still adorned with that blinding smile and soon enough his own shark grin is catching on his lips. They laugh at nothing, because that's who they are, two people in a world tainted by evil just trying to make things right. They laugh because they finally have a moment of peace and perfection in their lives as forsaken heroes and it is all they need.

She takes his hand, and they run together, into the relentless storm with nothing to lose and everything in the world to gain, both knowing how perfectly she fits into his arms when she needs him the most and how he can't help but smile whenever she falls asleep with some heavy textbook open in her lap.

And they'd forever be content just to have moments like this, when some things just made _sense_when everything else didn't, because those would be the moments that remained with them until the end of time. This, just this: Two soulmates caught out in the rain.

Together.

Because love doesn't have to be voiced to be there.

* * *

_The theme for this one was "Under the Rain."_

_Sorry for the extensive haitus!_

_Because I love your thoughts,_

**_-datt_**


	13. window and door

_Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater._

_The thirteenth!_

_"window and door"_

* * *

She gasps for breath, broken and bleeding, glass sprayed across the floor and her bloody hands clutch over her stomach, trying in vain to stop the crimson color – so much like his eyes, so horrifyingly like his eyes – from spreading across her shirt.

Her lips tremble, all the air rushing away from her before she can take any of it in, her strength sapped from her and replaced with numbing hurt. Convulsions rip through her frail body and blood flows from between her lips – and she moves. Her shaking arms reach for something she can't see, her sight clouding and fear settling in.

Panic follows as her breaths become more and more shallow, less and less strong.

And all of a sudden she's standing, her mind so fuzzy and uncomprehending that it doesn't even know what her body is doing anymore. Every part of her is on fire, burning, crumbling, giving way. Hot blood rushes from her lungs, surfacing in coughs as her stained fingers pull the door open.

Nothing is there to break her fall as she collapses in the doorway, unable to move any further.

The horrible sound of his scream vibrates in her ears. Nothing had ever sounded so terrifying, so unnatural, so frightening, so ruined but she can't block it out, with his arms wrapping around her and lifting her and her beaten body up and away.

Up, up and away.

His tears are hot and unbearable but she can't wipe them away as they hit the bloodied skin of her face. He's running, yelling cries of pure desperation for help, anyone's help, for something to save her the fate she didn't deserve.

Millions of shadows fade in front of her eyes, dark hands reaching for her in the cold night air. Her body is lit aflame, painfully incinerating as he rushes her out of the room, away from the blood-covered walls and shattered glass and photograph frames that used to hold pictures of them, happy and celebratory and not broken like they are now.

People surround them, her eyes barely able to focus as they stab needles into her arms and take her out of his. Her soul aches for the touch of his skin, the warmth of his protective heartbeat. His mouth is open as he screams, fighting against so many people that try to restrain him, that try to keep him away from her. With her last bit of stamina, she says his name, clearer than the sun on a cloudless day and he yells hers right back, with so much emotion that it breaks everyone's hearts.

"_Soul."_

"_MAKA!"_

She loses him in the sea of white and scent of sterilization, but they both can feel the tears spilling from her eyes, his eyes, their combined souls. People in white look away from him as he collapses to his knees with the blankest, emptiest expression on his face that would only last seconds before he breaks down, falls to pieces.

He can't breathe anymore, can't comprehend the world around him, can't even start to understand how his entire life had been obliterated and he hadn't been able to even try to stop it. Deep in his chest, something has broken, something that he didn't even know could break until he met her.

Dimly, he can hear her heartbeat in his ears but it is no comfort to him or his mind, which is so explicably spiraling out of control. Saltwater stings his tongue but he couldn't care less. The world moves slowly now, and he leans his head back against the wall before sliding down to the floor, legs too weak to hold up his weight anymore.

Just down the hall, her eyes are open, searching the room desperately despite her tears of pain, of suffering, of having and being lost. The noise is deafening to her ears, and she cries out with a tortured scream as they touch her abdomen and extract pieces of debris – glass and something metal.

Suddenly there's this banging on the door that closes her off from the world, and it's frantic and desperate and distraught and so heartbreaking but her damaged hearing can hear his voice. She's still screaming because not even her strength can help but crumble beneath what has drawn the blood that stains her white shirt as she struggles against it.

Outside, he slams his fist hopelessly into the door, his forehead against the cold steel and his voice still shouting her name over and over and over again. He can't think of what would happen if her soul stopped responding to his because that train of thought would bring him, all of him, crashing down, falling from grace.

The sound of her voice, torn from her lips like this, struck him to the core. Years and years of missions and their frequent flirtatious dances with death should have prepared him for this, but loving her like this was something he hadn't anticipated.

Loving her. Loving her so much it hurt at times, because even when she'd laid her head on his chest searching for comfort he hadn't had the strength to tell her, hadn't had the courage after all she knew of him and all he knew of her to just stand up and say it. He'd been scared, he still was, that she didn't feel the same and that three little words could tear everything apart at the seams.

Just like now.

Hell, he'll be the first to admit that thought it'd fade away, that it was only his teenage mind jumping to conclusions just because she was the most valued person in his life. But he was wrong, because months passed and if anything, his heart beat faster than ever before whenever her skin grazed his.

And even then, he knew, in the depths of his heart, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was no life without her.

Another yell of anguish pierces through the door, the walls, his heart and soul. There's a window next to that door, nearly dented with the force of his desperation, and he rushes to it to see her, tearing away from all the people in white. Her name tears from his throat, frantic.

They cannot control her, they cannot strap her spirit still with battered restraints, and their arms try to pull her back downward. Tables crash over and her green eyes find him, his hands pressed against the pane, and she pushes her way to the window so she can look him in the eyes, meet them with her desolate ones and try to tell him everything.

She can see her own blood splashed across his clothes, and the broken look on his face snaps something inside of her. Her hand holds fast against the glass exactly over where his is. Tears pour down her face and catch her hair, tangled and disheveled, because her body hurts like hell and these people are only making it worse. The lack of his touch, his being is agonizing, even when they are only separated by this glass, because she knows that without him she'll be unable to carry on alone.

Heartbreak is tangible in the air because there's so much fear of loss in their faces as their mouths move and the words are lost in the noise of this world, their world around them. Her tongue and teeth and lips are stained red, pink with the rusty taste of blood and she can't feel him close enough and it scares them both to death. He looks at her with this mixture of sorrow and suffering and passion and it makes her cry harder. She leans her forehead on the glass and he does the same for just a second – not even a second, before they drag her away and cast the curtains over her side of the window, locking her away from him.

A moment passes and all the noise stops, leaving a heavy, grim silence to land harshly on his shoulders and chest. He leans on his hands, staring down at the wood of the frame with dry eyes. Forsaken promises litter the air as hopelessness and despair sets in, and it's wrong, so wrong; everything is and it's tearing him to shreds from the inside out.

(Her hand, his hand. His heart, her heart. That's the way it's supposed to be.)

Because how is he supposed to save her, like he always does, like she knows he will, like it is his _purpose_ to do when the world just won't let him?

* * *

_The theme for this one was "Broken Pieces."_

_Because I love your thoughts,_

**_- datt_**


	14. a beat, a rest

_Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater._

_The fourteenth!_

_"a beat, a rest"_

* * *

None of this makes sense; the two of you standing there, staring at each other the way you are, like this is the end of the world and one little movement would bring you both crashing down, falling from grace. Her feet are set and steady, but her eyes are not as you look back with your own, knowing that they'll show her that you're drowning in your own vulnerability, too.

This stalemate will not pass. It's your fault, in a way, in the same way that she is to blame. You should have seen this coming; it was, always had been, inevitable that you would be stuck here, neither of you refusing to move or speak and risk ruining this before you had even gotten started.

You're pretty sure she's thinking the same things that you are, scared of the same things you are. Fear of failure is one. Fear of success is another. Everything is full of contradicting terms and misdemeanors that aren't exactly helping your situation. This, now, is the part the movies always skip, right after every thought, every freaking emotion you've ever felt toward each other has been thrown out into the open.

You want this part to be over. You want something to move you, but you're stuck in this gray area where there is no clear path for you to follow. What are you supposed to say next?

She doesn't know either. That's the one thing between you two that is painfully obvious right now. Everything else isn't.

You don't even remember how this whole thing started. All you can recall is there being a fight – some random, unprecedented fight – and all of a sudden you were saying the things you swore never to say aloud. And the craziest thing was that she was shooting those kind of things right back, like she couldn't take it anymore, like everything she'd locked inside had finally burst free of its chains.

And now – what else was there to do? You can't go back to what you used to be, not now, maybe not ever, but how are you supposed to move forward, or even fall backwards into nothing?

Just as you are about to give into the urge to run out that closed door and the one you've just metaphorically opened, her astounding, miraculous courage sparks up and she says, voicing the very question neither of you want to think about, "What do we do now?"

You don't break her unsure gaze as you shake your head. "I don't know," you say. There's a long, unbearable pause. "But I...I don't regret saying...what I said."

Your heart pounds as she replies, "I don't either."

"Then," you begin, stepping towards her. Her head tilts up and her hair falls out of her face and you're hit again with that inhuman feeling you get whenever she's within arm's reach. "What's left?"

She raises a hand and presses it against your heart, her fingertips caging in its pounding rhythm. "I don't want to lose you."

You don't say that you thought you lost _her_ when you said all those things, that _you_ had ruined everything you both had ever worked to built with five words. You don't tell her that you don't know how to be with her like you want to, because yeah, no one else has made your heart beat and head spin like she has. But what you do say is, "I am nothing without you."

Red stains her cheeks, and your smile doesn't reach your lips, instead stopping and dying in your eyes. After a beat, she asks, heartbreakingly soft, "Will we fall apart?"

There is no "what if." There is no hypothetical, no maybe or maybe not, no way for you to say that you just have to take the chance. It's yes or no, it's will we or won't we, and the scared way she asks it makes you think of every other love story gone wrong and every moment you ever argued with her. The answer is clear in your head, though, no matter how much you try to unseat it, and after all these years, you know it will never change.

So you say simply, "No."

Her mouth falls open just a little, her lips parting. "Soul."

"I want to be your last first kiss," you say, leaning just a little bit closer. That's another thing you thought you'd never get a chance to tell her. It's sad, in its own way, how much you need her, how much you want her to never leave, to always stay. Your eyes flick down to her lips and you can smell her shampoo. "I don't want you to be with anyone else...I don't want to live my life trying to fight this – _you_ – any longer."

She looks at you and you try to keep your head out of the clouds, keep your heart under control, but that's been so impossible lately that you all but give up. "I want you to be," she says. "I just...I'm scared."

There it is. After all these years and every last drop of blood you spilled and drew and all the monsters from hell you've stared down together, nothing much scares her anymore. But this, this – the beginning, the downfall of this, of everything – is what she fears. It strikes you like a blow to the chest.

"I'll never hurt you," you say after a long pause. "I'll always be here if you want me...If you want me to love—"

Her hand comes up to cover your mouth lightly, stopping you before falling away. "I want you to," she tells you, and that's all she needs to say. Questions litter the air, like _you and I?_ and_ forever?_ but the silence crushes them with a wave of its hand. You dip your head down, your mouth only an inch from hers, but you stop. Trembling, she waits in anticipation, knowing you stopped for a reason.

"Maka."

"Yeah?"

"This needs to be done right," you whisper. "_We_ need to do this right."

"I don't know how," she says. There's nervous fear in her voice amidst the peppermint taste of her breath, her beauty. "_We_ don't know how."

"But?" you ask, breathless, anxious, your crimson eyes lingering on her eyelids. There's so much hidden behind her closed eyes, like memories of conversations that you so purposely started to get her attention, to get her to look at you, to get her to open her heart – not her soul, she's been there, you've done that – to you, just for a little while. And now, when everything has come to its ultimate end, its ultimate beginning, her soul falls against yours, _into_ yours. It's amazing, nothing you've ever felt before, like she's giving you a little bit of herself for you to keep.

After a shared breath, she opens her eyes and looks at you and you can't stop yourself; your lips meet in a fragile promise. At the feeling you get and the way your head spins at this simple little touch, you want to slam your bare fists against every clock, tear of the hands of time and stay in this moment forever, because you want to stay in this moment for the rest of your life. But, instead, you get the next best thing – the incredible way she responds to you and gently kisses you back.

You close your eyes, inhaling all of her, because now you have nothing left to hide.

* * *

_The theme for this one was "Standing Still."_

_Because I love your thoughts,_


	15. gravel road

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own Soul Eater_

_The fifteenth!_

_"gravel road"_

* * *

They stand at a crossroads, neither one wanting to look at the other and risk voicing what they both already know, that this would be the last time they'd be together like this before they go and risk their hearts and beings in a fight that they don't know if they can win.

Of course, she'll be somewhere else dealing with the damage this war has already caused so many villages and towns. She won't be the one heading out onto the literal battlefield, because she can't, she's not allowed, even though he'd much rather be fighting side-by-side with her than anyone else. He hates it, how they don't understand that he does his best when he's in her hands, under her control.

The silence suffocates them, and just as she takes a step forward, onto her own fork, her own path alone, without him, he snaps.

He grabs her by her frail shoulders and stops her in her tracks. She freezes but says nothing, her fingers inching up to cover his. Nothing is more painful than the soft, tender touch of her skin against his, something he's not used to from her at all and he knows that this is something she's scared of, this ending and losing him and trying to be closer all at once.

A heavy exhale shakes her body, and he feels the air leave her. All his life, he's been looking for someone like her, walking the streets searching for someone that had always been with him, hidden in plain sight, so blindingly obvious that he missed all the signs. She doesn't know how much he needs her to keep his world from falling apart, even though it already is all around them, but he can't find the words to tell her as they stand like statues here at the end of it all.

He thinks about how stupid he's been and how frustrating she's been too, but it doesn't take away the pain of her moving out of his hold, half-turning to look at him with the same eyes that he'd seen full of insanity, exhaustion, laughter, rage, sadness and maybe the subtle glow of what he hopes is trust and bliss and some secret kind of love. Now, they flicker at him in this near darkness with masked pain and what might just be tears. She opens her mouth but he won't let her say a word as he rushes towards her, his hands tilting her face up to mesh her mouth with his.

They stay like that for a long time, a single touch turning into several, quiet and sad and feather-light. God, he's wanted to do this for so long and hadn't really even thought about it until this ending of him and her and them. She doesn't fight at all, her hands fisted up in his jacket.

Just as he was the one to start it, he's the one who pulls away, his eyes still closed because he can't look at her right now, as she leaves him before anything amazing like those kisses could really even start. He doesn't open them as she reaches up to grab both his hands and lift them gently from where they were resting on either side of her face, lowering them slowly between them.

She lets go.

Her boots scrape along the ground as she backs away. He doesn't trust himself to watch her go, doesn't want that image of her leaving him stuck in his mind as he tears through demons sent directly from hell. All he wants to haunt his dreams is the feel of her lips against his, the way she met him halfway each time they broke apart, the feeling of her soul finally mixed with his.

Because he wants his last dying breath to be her name, to have his last thought be remembering her as someone who loved him enough to never leave.

* * *

_I know, I know, over a year and the first update is short and doesn't make much sense. Sorry, but I'm back now, and I'm about to go through and major edit bits of this collection._

_Because I love your thoughts,_

_**-datt**_


End file.
